


What the Help Saw

by melanie1982



Category: Claudia the Vampire, Estella of Great Expectations
Genre: AU, Other, Silly, Vampires, apologiestoAnneRice, apologiestoDickens, literary canon-breaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:43:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6241537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanie1982/pseuds/melanie1982
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story continues on from 'Great Undead Expectations,' in which Claudia finds Estella and convinces her to accept the dark gift.</p><p>The story also explores what possibly occurred when Estella's brute of a husband died.</p><p>Fiction. I don't own these characters, and make no money from this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Help Saw

It was as I was draining the life from her that I learned her secret.

Rarely have I met a mortal who is able to hide anything from me, and I had not expected Estella to prove to be an exception. As we lay upon the chaise, my fangs locked upon her swan neck, I saw her life replaying in her mind. Some of it I knew from the novel, some did not interest me or hold any meaning, and then - oh, then! The scene changed, and I was spellbound. 

Estella was in the carriage-house, staring down at the lifeless form of her husband with a cool detachment which would have had Lestat writing courtly sonnets for the lady. On the ground beside him lay an iron bar of undetermined origin; some sort of tool, perhaps? An old fence railing? No matter. The deed was done; the object had served its purpose. Beside her husband, their noble horse stood, his breath coming in steaming snorts as though he felt great agitation. The horse was tied, so he had no say in the matter, though I sensed he wished to run, to be away from the strangeness, the scent of new death.  
Estella looked at the implement as though seeing it for the first time. I saw an older gentleman slip silently into the space to her left, waiting. He cleared his throat.

"Is everything alright, madame?"

Estella turned, her mouth opening mutely, her mind scrambling to get into character, to react - feel something, damn you!, she cursed herself. She was not accustomed to making original plans, and this one had been malformed and poorly executed. "I.. Rothschild, something has happened. Fetch - fetch a doctor. My husband.. does not move."

Rothschild had seen much over the years, having a very diverse array of former employers. His eyes softened slightly as he took in Estella's pallor, now flushed with the crimson of guilt, and made a split-second decision.

Approaching the corspse, Rothschild reached down, placing his hand near the dead man's mouth. No air was expelled against his skin. Two fingers, careful not to touch the blood, felt at the neck for a pulse; the search proved fruitless. 

"It's clear what happened here, madame. A most unfortunate accident."

She started at the words; had he said..?

"Rothschild?"

He met her gaze, a steady beam of calm and comfort flowing from his eyes to hers. A lifeline. She grasped it with both hands.

"Yes, madame. An accident. Your husband was known as a man with a cruel temper, a respecter of neither man nor beast. He must have spooked the horse, or abused it once too often. Look at his skull; see how the hooves, the metal horseshoes, have dented it?"

Estella felt faint, but rallied every fiber of her self-preservation, determined to remain standing. "An accident. Yes.."

Rothschild took her gently by the arm, holding it as though she were made of blown glass, leading her away. "I suggest that madame returns to the house; instruct the maid to fetch a doctor. When he arrives, I shall bring him here directly. Madame, I fear, is in shock; the doctor may have remedy for that, though I dare say a drop of brandy would do just as well."

"Rothschild... the police; they will.."

The butler came as near to smiling as he ever had. "Madame, do not concern yourself with that. I can swear to the fact that the man was brutal towards all living things. Nature has restored the balance by repaying his misdeeds. Is that not so?"

Rothschild could see, as could I, the bruises and slight lacerations covered with the arts of powder, paint, and hair. Estella stared at the butler for a long moment, no longer seeing the dead thing on the ground, and she walked toward the house to raise the alarm.

It was not a particularly convincing performance, but the police were not sorry to see him dead, and a lady of such standing was automatically almost above suspicion. 

Estella never asked what happened to the murder weapon, and Rothschild never mentioned it. "Plausible deniability is a wonderful thing, madame." Even when she could no longer afford to keep him in her employ, the butler never betrayed her secret. I felt something like pride in the man's sense of justice, so far removed from popular human morality. He had arranged the scene, sanitized it and dressed it so perfectly, keeping his lady above reproach. 

"So," I thought, "you have already killed a mortal to preserve your own safety. Now I shall teach you to kill without mercy, without lofty justifications, and without conscience."

Estella murmured something, nonsense, and then it was time for her to drink. She balked at my proffered wrist, but I hissed at her that she must take it, or die right there and then. Her tapered fingers found purchase, and she began to sip, too slowly, not enough. "Faster, damn you! Drink; it is your life!" Abandoning decorum, she began to suck, and I felt as my makers must have felt, only magnified due to my smaller size. 

"Stop!", I commanded, and to my surprise, she did so, though a growl accompanied the forfeiture.

I watched as the change came over her, watched every detail, not shying away as I had with Madeleine. When she began to wail, I threatened to gag her, and she soon quieted. Estella never closed her eyes, even as they glazed over; and then she was still. Her face was pale as the moon, and her eyes had a sharpness to them, a keenness beyond their years. 

"You have to feed, to fuel your body for the final stage of the change. Summon the maid."

Another would have argued, would have romanticized it; Louis, perhaps, though he did finally kill his favored slave. Not Estella; not my star. 

She looked at me, comprehension dawning upon her face, and pulled the rope to ring the bell.


End file.
